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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540075">warm my bones and fill my glass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnydaisy/pseuds/sunnydaisy'>sunnydaisy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Vampire Diaries (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst, F/M, Human Caroline Forbes, Not Damon Friendly, mentions of abuse, mentions of dub/non-con, plays fast and loose with the canon timeline because author's memory is bad!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:34:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,329</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnydaisy/pseuds/sunnydaisy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Caroline Forbes has insecurities in spades.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson, mentions of past Caroline/Damon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>397</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>warm my bones and fill my glass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is from “God I Hope This Year is Better Than the Last” (relatable, and same).</p><p>Two-thirds of this fic has been gathering dust on my laptop since early February but I finally put some sad music on and got my shit together. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Caroline Forbes has insecurities in spades. </p><p>They make her Damon’s perfect victim. He preys on each one: that she will never be as good as Elena, that she will never be good enough <em>at all</em>, that she’s neurotic and broken, that no one would notice if she was gone. </p><p>That she’s nothing. </p><p>That she is nothing to her friends, who haven’t yet noticed the bruises that splash across her arms and the punctures in her neck; that she’s nothing to her mother, who lives like a ghost in their house; that she’s nothing to him.</p><p>He takes everything she has ever hated about herself (which is <em>way</em> more than is healthy, according to Dr. Stone, who she sees twice a week; and <em>as if</em> she didn’t know that already) and weaponizes it. He turns it back on her and makes her feel less than three inches tall.</p><p>Damon preys on <em>her.</em></p><p>The proof, as her mother used to say, is in the pudding.</p><p><em>No</em>, she thinks as she adjusts her new scarf in the mirror, hiding the bits of herself that she’s losing. That he’s taking from her.</p><p>The proof is in her neck, in her shoulder: deep and purple and gaping.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>“Are you going to kill me?” she asks Damon once. </p><p>Just the once.</p><p>He shrugs, nonchalantly, the same way he is in everything he does. <em>Not true</em>, the awful voice inside her head whispers, <em>not everything.</em> She’s seen the way he looks at Elena, seen the way his pale blue eyes follow the movements of her hands and the wind in her hair.</p><p>“Mhmm,” he hums before he kisses her. His mouth is hard and unyielding on hers. “Eventually.” </p><p>It should make her afraid.</p><p>Instead she nods, as though it makes all the sense in the world. Because it does.</p><p>Of course he will kill her, eventually. What use does he have for a useless girl? <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>But he doesn’t.</p><p>He doesn’t kill her, not yet, but only because Stefan spiked her drink with <em>fucking vervain</em>. </p><p>She wakes up alone on the grass, in a blue dress that she hates, her neck throbbing. There’s a vague memory tickling at the back of her mind, of Stefan taunting Damon, while she just—<em>laid</em> there, bleeding and alone, and she barely registers when Elena finds her, her eyes wide and full of concern. </p><p>Her lungs feel too small, and even though they’re outside, it feels like all of the walls are closing in on her, and she can’t <em>breathe</em>—</p><p>Elena brushes her hair out of her face, hugs her tight, and takes her home. </p><p>(Caroline starts growing vervain in the shadowbox garden outside her bedroom window. She drinks it in her water, in her tea, in the cocktails her mother doesn’t know she fixes while Liz is gone on the overnight shift at the police station.)</p><p>If she’s going to die, she isn’t going down without inflicting some pain of her own.</p><p>It would be nice to be the one doing the hurting for once. <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Caroline is done being a victim. <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>She Googles <em>self-defense classes</em> <em>near me,</em> <em>kickboxing</em> <em>near me,</em> <em>krav maga near me</em>, and anything else she can think of, but everything is either hours away in Charlottesville or Richmond; or it’s a fusion of what she actually wants with Pilates or yoga. <em>Kravilates!</em> one ad has the audacity to offer. She shakes her head in frustration at the laptop screen.</p><p>What she wants is to learn how to break Damon Salvatore’s <em>stupid fucking face</em>, thank you very much, not how a vinyasa flow can ease the tide of her anger. Finding nirvana in Warrior One is the last thing she’s interested in. </p><p>(She’s found she kind of likes the anger. Likes the way it keeps her warm. </p><p>Dr. Stone wouldn’t approve, but she’ll keep it to herself.)</p><p>The last result just says Kickboxing Fitness Gym (<em>very creative</em>, she thinks sardonically) and it clocks to about a twenty-minute drive outside of town, which adds some degree of comfort. Richmond and Charlottesville are both too far for her, but the outskirts of town ensure she won’t run into any of the cheer squad. Not, she amends, that any of her fellow cheerleaders, besides maybe Bonnie or Elena, would be likely to show up at a <em>kickboxing</em> class.</p><p>Before she can second guess herself, Caroline signs up for a class (FIRST CLASS FREE, the banner at the top of the website announces cheerfully in bold blocky font).</p><p>“No more nice Forbes,” she announces with false triumph to her reflection in the laptop’s screen.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>The gym isn’t exactly <em>dinky</em>, but upscale it is not. There are kickboxing bags hanging from the ceiling, rubbery mats on the floor, and the lighting is shit. Red lockers line one wall and it smells faintly of sweat and Lysol.</p><p>Caroline kind of likes it, though. In her mind, she’s Jennifer Lopez in <em>Enough</em>, ready to hack off her hair and kick an abusive dick’s <em>ass</em>. She has to stop herself from bouncing on her toes as the bored looking manager fits her for gloves, and she refuses to feel silly in her Mystic Falls Cheer tank top.</p><p>“Left hand punches on the odd numbers,” the manager recites disinterestedly. “Right hand punches on the even numbers. Don’t forget to use your hips when you swing.” And on that minimal instruction, she’s let loose.</p><p>The other patrons are all much older than her, and mostly men in varying degrees of shape. Caroline may be the youngest person in the gym, but if she stops for just a second and lets herself <em>be</em>, she feels so tired, ancient in her very marrow. Certainly older than the rest of the gym members. </p><p>
  <em>Useless. Shallow.</em>
</p><p>Her neck aches.</p><p>She chooses a bag in the corner, away from all of the men, next to an older woman who looks like she’s seen some serious shit. Caroline, who can relate, offers her a half smile before setting down her water bottle on the window ledge.</p><p>The instructor though—he isn’t at all what she expected.</p><p>He’s not <em>small</em>, but she had imagined a Sylvester Stallone wannabe bodybuilder type. She had imagined tattoos, a shaved head, a beard, a scowl, a handful of piercings. </p><p>The cut of his muscles is easily apparent, but he’s lean with thick hair and just the hint of stubble; and to her chagrin, he’s <em>handsome</em>. And, she thinks with faint interest, not that much older than her. College, maybe—<em>no,</em> she orders herself sternly. She is not here to make friends, she is not here to flirt, or to find a boyfriend. </p><p>She is here to learn how to be a badass. Caroline nods sternly to herself once for emphasis, before settling into the stance she has just learned, her right foot in front of her left, hands fisted and held up in front of her.</p><p>He doesn’t have a microphone and the music is booming, but so is his voice and he’s <em>British</em>—</p><p><em>No</em>, she tells herself again. This is for her, for her safety, for her<em>self</em>, and she cannot, will not, become distracted.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>The class…is not what she thought it was.</p><p>There is no hand to hand, no instructions on how to react if someone grabs you from behind; just her and a bag to hit—and oh, does she <em>hit</em>. When the class is over, forty-five minutes gone in what seems like the blink of an eye, she feels lightness like she hasn’t felt since—well.</p><p>It’s been a very long time.</p><p>But she’d wanted to learn how to fight like Buffy Summers. She’d wanted to know how to keep her wrists from breaking when she shoved a certain asshole’s cartilage into his skull.</p><p>(She has vampires to—well, not <em>slay</em>, but to at least keep herself protected from, after all.)</p><p>This is not that, and she is acutely disappointed.</p><p>The instructor— “Nik,” he tells her as he takes her borrowed gloves to slide them back into their cubbyhole—actually owns the place, she finds out.</p><p>“Did you like it?” Nik asks her, and he actually looks interested in her answer, his eyes staying intent on hers. They are blue, she notices. A deep, dark blue that she thinks vaguely she could drown in.   </p><p>Caroline shifts her bag to her other side. “I did,” she tells him honestly, “but it’s not exactly what I was expecting.” His raised eyebrow invites her to continue, so she plows forward. “Um—I was, like, kind of hoping it was more like,” she gestures aimlessly, “self-defense-ish? If that makes sense?”</p><p>Now his eyes do flick over her, and she wonders what he sees; if her body betrays her, if he can read it on her face, if he can read it on her skin.</p><p>Her <em>skin</em>, where she carries the external evidence of Damon Salvatore’s use. Her face warms and she grapples wildly for an excuse for the scars on her neck—<em>it’s a long story, involves a barbecue fork and an unlucky misstep; you really don’t want to know</em>.</p><p>She can’t think of a lie for the ones on her shoulder blades; she can only hope that her sports bra covers them.</p><p>But Nik doesn’t ask, just returns to look directly into her eyes and nods as though he understands. “The gym doesn’t offer that,” he tells her and the disappointment she feels must flash across her face because he continues assuredly, “However, if you’d like, you can still join, and I’ll set something up. No extra charge.”</p><p>It’s unfathomable to her why he would go out of his way to do this for her, a stranger. “You’d do that?”</p><p>He shrugs and looks a little uncomfortable. “You should still take the classes,” he says, gesturing towards where the bags hang from the ceiling. “It can be…cathartic.”</p><p>She finds herself nodding in agreement. It <em>had</em> been cathartic, slamming her fists against the bag, she an unstoppable force and it an immovable object. She had imagined each punch to be an uppercut right into Damon’s smug face.</p><p>Nik doesn’t charge her for her new pink gloves.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>She and Nik hadn’t worked out a schedule before she left after her first class, so Caroline shows up at 8 am sharp on Saturday morning, when the website had shown that he was teaching his first class. She takes the class, and is surprised when the face she pictures this time does not belong to Damon Salvatore—it has morphed into her father’s, and her fists <em>ache</em> (almost as much as her chest).</p><p>“Have you noticed that you repeat the numbers to yourself?” Nik asks her afterwards as they sit across from each other, a calendar resting on the desk between them.</p><p>Caroline marks an X in Sharpie over Tuesdays— “Cheerleading,” she tells him distractedly before frowning as she processes what he’s just told her. “I do?”</p><p>“You do,” he confirms, sliding the calendar back towards him now that she has marked off her unavailability. He circles Wednesday and Sunday and raises a questioning eyebrow at her.</p><p>“Works for me,” she says.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Nik has a ring with a familiar blue stone that he’s worn every time she’s seen him.</p><p>Caroline tells herself it’s not illegal to own blue jewelry, and it most certainly does not mean he’s a vampire.</p><p>He could just like the color, she reasons to herself.</p><p>It doesn’t <em>mean</em> anything.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>During the first self-defense class, Caroline ends up on her ass, <em>a lot.</em> The next day, her muscles ache so badly that her cheerleading coach asks if she needs an ice bath.</p><p>She does, and she takes it.</p><p>The next one is easier, and by the end of her fourth class, she’s only knocked down three times. </p><p>“Not bad,” Nik says, and she beams at him. </p><p>Something low in her stomach clenches when he smiles back.  <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>They talk, a little, sometimes.</p><p>She supposes it was inevitable, getting to know each other, when they’re meeting twice a week for her to try—well, mostly fail— to attack him.</p><p>During one of their water breaks, she finds out that he’s one of six siblings and Caroline stares at him in exaggerated horror. “<em>Six</em>?” she repeats incredulously. “I can’t even imagine <em>one</em>, much less <em>six.</em>”</p><p>Nik laughs—he laughs a lot when they take a break from self-defense, and she finds she likes the sound—and rubs the back of his neck ruefully. Their gloves from the kickboxing class that had ended hours earlier are long abandoned and <em>how long has she been here?</em> “It got…a bit crowded,” he admits with a fond smile that he directs towards the ground.</p><p>Caroline doesn’t ask where his family is; she knows all too well the potential pain of unwanted explanations. </p><p>If he wants to tell her, she figures he will.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>“Damn, Forbes,” Bonnie says with a light laugh, one finger reaching to tap Caroline’s bicep. The muscle there has become more defined, though hardly bulky. “Been lifting?”</p><p>Caroline shoots her a diamond smile, hard and bright, and shakes her head. “Kickboxing.”</p><p>A shadow crosses Bonnie’s face; she gets it immediately. “I wouldn’t let anything hurt you, supernatural or otherwise, Care. You know that, right?”</p><p>Despite the warmth of the sun, a shiver snakes its way up Caroline’s back. She hadn’t told Bonnie, hadn’t told Elena, hadn’t told <em>anyone</em> about the extent of what happened with Damon. As far as anyone knows, he was just an asshole vampire boyfriend who broke her heart. Except maybe to Stefan— she thinks Stefan may know a lot more than any of them give him credit for.</p><p>Caroline doesn’t tell Bonnie that she’s already been hurt. </p><p>“I know,” she says instead, laying her head on Bonnie’s shoulder as they watch the junior varsity squad practice out on the field. “I know, Bon.”<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Caroline catches the way Nik looks at her sometimes after she’s finished punching into his palms: like she is something he’s never seen before, like he’d blow out the stars for her.</p><p>Like he isn’t quite sure what to do with her.</p><p>She has some ideas on that front.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Her shins are <em>hella</em> bruised from kicking the punching bag. </p><p>“Been spending a lot of time on your knees, Barbie?” Damon snarks and she waits until Elena’s back is turned to jam the bony point of her elbow into his ribs.</p><p>The sound he makes—wheezing like she’s staked him, <em>if only</em>—makes her smile beatifically.  <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>It’s been a bad day.</p><p>She’d fought with Elena over something so stupid that four hours later she can’t even remember what it was, and her hurt had been cemented as she’d watched her friend hop into Damon’s car like it was <em>nothing</em>.</p><p>And in all fairness, Caroline hadn’t told Elena the worst of it with Damon—she hadn’t told <em>anyone</em>. Not Elena, not Bonnie, not Stefan, not even Dr. Stone. Some days, she won’t even let herself think about it. It’s easier sometimes, to pretend all of it happened to another girl, in another life. </p><p>But <em>still.</em> They had rules, a code! Caroline would never, not in a million years, have anything to do with one of Elena’s ex boyfriends. Chicks before dicks, hos before bros, ovaries before <em>fucking</em> brovaries. </p><p>For God’s sake, Matt had asked her out a month ago and she had said, not without some regret, that if he had never dated her best friend, she would be so, <em>so</em> down. But he had, so she wasn’t. Frustration, wild and thorny, wraps around her bones.</p><p>The music in the gym echoes inside her rib cage; her knuckles ache and her throat feels like it’s full of rusty nails as she fights back tears.</p><p>When class is over, she lingers behind, unwrapping her hands slowly from their bindings as Nik speaks in a low voice to another patron.</p><p>Once the last of her classmates have left, he turns to where she sits, hands half unwrapped, eying her with more than a little concern on his face. “Everything all right, love?”</p><p>He does that sometimes—calls her <em>love</em>, or <em>sweetheart</em>; and she would take it seriously except he says it with all the emotional output that she has when she says things like <em>my dude</em> to Tyler or <em>girl</em> to Elena.</p><p>Caroline shrugs. “Got into a dumb fight with my friend,” she mumbles. She so does not want to seem like some petty high schooler.</p><p>He gestures to the bags. “Didn’t help?”</p><p>“Kinda.”</p><p>The frown he gives her is mockingly serious and it makes her smile in spite of herself. </p><p>“<em>Kind of</em>?” he repeats in faux disbelief. “That will not do.” His eyes slide to the clock behind her and she deflates a bit. He probably has to leave and she’ll just—go home and write next week’s lit paper, she guesses. She’s already read the book anyway, and seriously, what a beating her social calendar has taken this year.  </p><p>But he surprises her. “Fancy a spar?”</p><p>She blinks at him before visibly brightening. “As long as you go easy,” she implores him. “I’m still learning, don’t forget.”</p><p>“As if I could,” he drawls.</p><p>They start as they normally do, her gloved fists landing into his open palms. He calls out the numbers, occasionally throwing in a slip or a kick, until she is good and warmed up, her heart rate elevated and sweat beginning to bead on her forehead.</p><p>But the atmosphere changes when he has her take her gloves off. “Keep your wraps on,” he instructs and she blinks at him before shrugging and tightening the Velcro ends of the wrist wraps.</p><p>“Ready?” he asks as she settles back into a fighting stance. When she nods, he mirrors her position.</p><p>It sends a tingle of anticipation down her vertebrae. They haven’t done this before, an actual match. She’s under no delusions that she’ll win, but she imagines it will help release the tension that is still nestled between her shoulder blades.</p><p>Sometimes, this reminds her of dancing. Dodge, strike, parry is just another version of <em>one, two, three</em> and she keeps an eye on Nik’s feet, taking her cues from their tiny, nearly unnoticeable movements. He’s taking it easy on her, she can tell, but she’s <em>not losing</em>. She’s holding her own, even landing a few light, hesitant hits of her own that make something she can’t decipher flare in his eyes. </p><p>After ten minutes, her calves are burning and her shoulders ache. It’s then that Caroline’s like, <em>mostly</em> sure that Nik decides to just end it, because he pulls a move that she’s never seen before, his foot hooking around her ankle and pulling her down. Somehow, he angles himself so that she doesn’t completely slam down onto the mat; instead, she tumbles down onto the only slightly softer surface of <em>him</em>.</p><p>Their faces are mere millimeters apart, his arms cocooning around her. “Um,” she says dazedly, “okay. So. You win, then.” Her brain is short circuiting; all she can think is that despite the lingering scent of sweat and rubber mats, he smells nice. Like soap and sandalwood. </p><p>“I win,” he agrees solemnly.</p><p>She acts on impulse, closing the distance between their faces and brushing her lips over his. His fingers tighten on her arms before slackening and she immediately pulls back, her face flushing.</p><p>“Oh my <em>god</em>,” she blurts out, scrambling off of him and backing away, staring pointedly at the ground instead of anywhere near his face. “I am so—so <em>sorry</em>—” She can’t look at him, her hands shaking as she tugs at her wrist wraps. Her feet nearly catch on themselves in her hurry to escape. </p><p>“Caroline—” she hears him say from somewhere behind her. </p><p>But she’s already sped out the door.  <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Caroline skips Saturday’s class.  </p><p>Then she skips Wednesday’s one-on-one too. </p><p>She is <em>mortified.<br/></em>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>“Care! You have a visitor!” Liz Forbes calls from the foyer, followed by a softer, “Sure, come on in—she’ll be out in just a sec.” Caroline hears the sounds of her mother’s keys jangling and the front door shutting before she pokes her head out of her bedroom. Liz is already halfway down the driveway, a half-hearted wave tossed over one shoulder, and it would hurt but it’s not like it’s the first time she’s been uninterested in her daughter’s life.</p><p>It stopped hurting a while ago. Like a lot of other things. </p><p>She stops short at the entrance of the living room, her heart fluttering at the sight of him. </p><p>Nik shifts from one foot to the other and he looks almost awkward, his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed slightly. </p><p>“Um,” she says brilliantly, suddenly wishing that she was wearing something cuter than a t-shirt and her ratty old leggings. “You wanna sit?” She gestures aimlessly behind her and hopes that it’s somewhat in the vicinity of the couch. </p><p>His head dips in a nod and her mind is racing, her pulse ricocheting off her veins as she turns and leads him into the living room. </p><p>Nik settles himself on their old, faded couch; the cushion sags under him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. It’s unnerving how easily she can picture him here, in her home, on her couch, <em>in her bedroom— </em></p><p>“I hope you don’t mind,” he begins, leaning forward so that his elbows rest on his knees, “that I stole your address off of your billing information.” </p><p>It startles a laugh out of her. “I don’t think I have any room to judge on the creep front,” she says, feeling her cheeks begin to redden. “I—I don’t know what came over me,” <em>liar</em>, a voice in the back of her mind whispers, “—and I just—I’m so <em>sorry</em> that I—”</p><p>“Caroline,” he interrupts, and her heart flips over in her chest. “There’s no need for an apology.” </p><p>Her fingers twist her hem into knots. “That’s really nice of you but—”</p><p>“It’s not,” he says, and she looks up sharply to find that he’s stood up and is now directly in front of her, pulling her up out of her chair. His hands cup her face and he <em>kisses</em> her—</p><p>He kisses her and he tastes like citrus, like sin, like something she’ll refuse to regret because this is <em>hers</em> and hers alone. </p><p><em>Oh</em>, she thinks, and she breathes it too, and he laughs and kisses her again. <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Caroline could get used to <em>this</em>.</p><p>They’re in his office at the gym and Nik is between her legs, his stubble scraping against her thigh as he sucks the skin of her thigh into a ruddy bruise before moving closer to where she really wants him. </p><p>“Tease,” she moans chidingly when he simply skims his nose over her center before moving to her other leg. She feels him grin against her skin and <em>oh</em>, that cannot stand. “I’d remember if I were you,” she warns breathily, “that what goes around comes around, <em>Nik</em>.”</p><p>He chuckles. “A most excellent point,” he agrees and then his mouth is <em>there</em>, his tongue merciless against her, and it’s almost instantaneous how quickly she falls apart, her fingers grasping in his hair and her thighs pressing against his ears. </p><p>When she finally comes down, he kisses her soundly, hands grasping the hem of her tank top and pulling it off of her. She half expects him to be grossed out at how it sticks to her, still sweaty from class, but he simply tosses it to the side and reaches for her sports bra next.</p><p>“Mm—wait,” she says and he stills immediately. “No, not like—not <em>stop</em>, wait; wait, like—this isn’t fair, you have too many clothes on, <em>wait</em>.” She touches his face and looks directly into his eyes before echoing his movements and reaching for his shirt. It slides off in one fluid motion, following her own to the floor. </p><p>She feels him nudge against her entrance before she remembers with sudden, striking clarity— “<em>Shit</em>, do you have a condom?” she asks, pulling away from him slightly; she could smack herself in the forehead for what she had been about to do.</p><p>Something—she isn’t sure what—plays out on his face before he sighs heavily and lets his forehead drop to her shoulder.</p><p>“Unfortunately not, sweetheart,” Nik says. “Not here.”</p><p>Caroline bites her lip, weighs her options, and decides to leap before she looks. “Then let’s go,” she suggests, pressing her bare chest to his and looking up at him through her lashes.</p><p>He gives her that look, the one he gives her when he thinks she isn’t looking, the one that makes her feel like she’s a firefly he wants to trap in a jar and keep with him forever.</p><p>She doesn’t really think he’ll deny her—not with the straining boner he’s got, she notes with some satisfaction—but one beat passes, then a second, and the confidence she’d worn so well starts to nosedive.</p><p>Then—</p><p>“Follow me,” he says, lacing their fingers together and holding tight.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Being a gym owner must generate a lot more disposable income than Caroline would’ve guessed because his house is <em>enormous</em>. Seriously, she bets it could hold like four of hers.</p><p>She tells him so, and he waves her off. “Good investments,” he says vaguely and she nods sagely at him before shaking her head once his back is turned.</p><p>She isn’t a fool. It’s <em>definitely </em>money laundering.</p><p>Nik leads her up the spiral staircase, his thumb running over her knuckles as he clasps her hand between both of his behind his back. The thrill of anticipation is building in her stomach, setting her nerves alight with a cold fire as she follows him.</p><p>When they get to his bedroom, she’s at first distracted by the California king bed. “Kind of a lot for just one person,” she remarks before zeroing in on a sketchpad. “You <em>draw</em>?”</p><p>“I dabble,” he demurs, and she isn’t so uncouth that she grabs for the pad, but her fingers itch to slough off the coils of politeness and dive into the thick cream pages. She’s beyond curious if he’s drawn her.</p><p>Instead she walks over to him, her face a hair’s breadth from him and makes a soft request. “Will you show me sometime?”</p><p>He studies her face intently and she is suddenly one thousand percent certain that if she flipped through his sketchbook, she would find herself staring back up at her. “Perhaps,” he allows, and she smiles a little before kissing him.</p><p>The mood back at the gym had been one of urgency, with a hint of illicitness—he isn’t her teacher, but he <em>is</em> teaching her, and theoretically, anyone could have walked in on them. But here, in his bedroom, he is softer, his hands slower and more methodical as they trail down her body, his eyes burning hotter as he looks at her. And the <em>way</em> he looks at her, as though he can’t quite believe his luck—it’s enough to make her squirm with pleasure. </p><p>Caroline knows she’s been wanted before, but something about the way that Nik is looking at her, as though she is something rare and precious and to be treasured, makes her breath hitch in her throat. </p><p>“You’re beautiful,” he says, picking up her hand and kissing her knuckles before leaning forward, his forehead resting against hers. His hand moves to her waist, to tug the hem over her shirt until she lifts her arms obediently and he peels it off of her, letting it drop to the floor. He takes her face in his hands, kissing her with such <em>softness</em>— </p><p>It makes her feel beautiful, makes her feel adored, makes her feel <em>safe</em> in a way she hasn’t felt since— </p><p>Nik’s lips trail down her neck, and she hears her breath hitch as she remembers the scars that linger there, her fingers tightening in his shirt. He stops and returns to her face. </p><p>“All right?” he asks, and she smiles up at him. He would stop if she asked him to, would drive her home if she wanted—but all she wants is him. </p><p>She closes the tiny gap between their lips and for a long, perfect moment, he just kisses her, his arms tight around her. “All right,” she whispers back, and he dimples back at her. </p><p>He lets her lead, lets her tug his shirt up, dipping his head as she pulls it off of him, letting it flutter to the floor next to hers. His skin is warm under her fingertips and she lets herself indulge briefly at the sight of his muscles before pressing herself against him and kissing him softly, her fingers sliding playfully under the band of his pants. </p><p>Without pausing in kissing him, she nudges him back to the bed, and when he sits on the edge, she brackets his hips with her thighs. His hands stroke down the bare skin of her legs, and it’s only when his fingers slide under their edge that she remembers she is still wearing her workout shorts. She pulls away from him to shimmy out of them, but when she returns, her face so close to his, she doesn’t kiss him. </p><p>Nik catches on, pushing himself backwards on the bed, and she follows, her lips never further than a breath away from his. When they’re prone, she finally leans down and kisses him, her tongue sliding into his mouth and his hands running long, soft strokes down her spine.</p><p>“You can touch me,” she breathes against him, “if you want.”</p><p>His eyes darken and his fingers slide into her underwear, as though all he was waiting on was her permission. She hums her approval when the tip of one finger dips shallowly into her; at the sound, it pushes further before another joins. Her hips move of their own accord—small, unconscious movements that tear the <em>best</em> sounds from his throat. </p><p>She pulls away just enough to whisper, “Condom,” and he groans a little before letting his head fall back against the pillow.</p><p>“Bathroom. First drawer next to the sink,” he says, and she feels just saucy enough to wink at him before she hops off of him and speeds to the adjoining bathroom. They’re easy enough to find; Caroline bites her lip and catches sight of herself in his mirror. Her face is flushed, her hair a tangled mess, her lips swollen and red. A giggle bubbles up within her and she feels—<em>good</em>. Light.  </p><p>She takes a whole sleeve. Call her optimistic. <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Nik does <em>not</em>, in fact, let their new intimacy interfere with her self-defense classes (even when Caroline’s feeling particularly flirty, exhaling suggestively across his jawline before she jams her elbow into his solar plexus). He is immovable, the consummate professional, focused with a single-mindedness that borders on obsession on teaching her how to protect herself, and she is begrudgingly grateful, despite how badly she wants to jump his bones again.</p><p>When they’re finished though—</p><p>He backs her against the concrete wall of the gym, his mouth hot over hers, his tongue slipping past her teeth as his hands grip her hips. She kisses him back enthusiastically, her fingers sliding under his shirt and fluttering over the taut abdominal muscle hidden there as his lips break from hers and travel down her neck.</p><p>Caroline doesn’t react, doesn’t flinch the way she might have months (weeks, <em>days</em>) ago but still he pauses over the fading scar. One of his hands leaves her hip to stroke the soft skin there. Her breath hitches.</p><p>“Will you ever tell me about these?” Nik asks gently, moving so that his forehead is resting against hers as they both catch their breath. His other hand slips up to the edge of her sports bra, fingers stroking the still-fading scar on her shoulder blade. So he <em>had</em> noticed.</p><p>The excuse that she had crafted springs to the forefront of her mind—<em>who knew cookouts could be so dangerous?</em> she recites internally—but something stops her. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her, like he would set the whole world aflame for her, like she’s something precious and to be protected, like he wants to slay dragons for her. </p><p>No one has ever looked at her like that.</p><p>And instead of lying, she chews her lip anxiously. She searches his face; there is only concern in the depths of his blue, blue eyes.</p><p>Caroline surprises herself. “Maybe someday,” she tells him seriously, and he kisses her gently, his lips ghosting over hers. </p><p>Someday is all that she can promise him, and he takes it. <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>She hasn’t had, like, a <em>ton</em> of sex, but she’s had enough to know that it’s <em>really, really </em>good with him. It’s a far cry from the quick, furious fumbling in backseats that she had had with her first boyfriends, and lacks the aggression, the fear that had stained every interaction with Damon.</p><p>Her legs wrap around his waist, her hips canting upwards and drawing him in deeper. Nik groans into her ear. “Trying to kill me, love?”</p><p>She won’t tell him (she’s pretty sure it’s against, like, the rules of feminism or something) but she <em>loves</em> the little endearments he uses. “Maybe,” she gasps instead as he thrusts, her skin flaming. “Is it working?”</p><p>He laughs. “<em>Le petit mort</em>,” he says, nosing her hair, his fingers curling into the sheets on either side of her head.</p><p>“But I’m taking <em>Spanish</em>,” she protests weakly and he just laughs again before silencing the both of them with a bruising kiss.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>They’re lying in comfortable, companionable silence, his top sheet twisted around both of their hips. His eyes are shut but Caroline knows from his breathing that he isn’t sleeping. He is soft against her thigh, and their sweat is quickly cooling. Her head is on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat.</p><p>“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks without opening his eyes, his voice a rich timber under her ear.  </p><p>She’s silent for a long time, the internal debate she’s had for weeks raging quietly, before she takes a deep breath and dives.</p><p>“There was this guy,” she says without looking at him, playing with the necklace he always wears. She traces the brown cords with her fingernail and his fingertips never stop their long, soothing strokes down her arm. “And I knew he didn’t really like me, and I don’t think I even really liked him?” She shrugs a little; it’s not like it matters now. “He was hot and bored, and I was—I don’t know. Desperate, maybe?” <em>Insecure. Neurotic. Lonely.</em> She gives a short laugh, but there is no humor behind it and the sound makes his fingers halt briefly before beginning again. He doesn’t press her, simply waits for her to continue.</p><p>After several deep, calming breaths, she does.</p><p>“He wasn’t…very nice to me,” she says. “He—he hurt me, and I don’t really want to—to elaborate beyond that, if that’s, like, okay? Just—he <em>sucked</em> and I…I hated myself when I was with him. I mean, I hated him too, seriously—he was the worst, but I <em>really</em> hated myself.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, steadying herself. </p><p>The words are out there now, somewhat, and the world didn’t end. </p><p>It didn’t even pause.</p><p>His index finger comes up to brush her hair off her face, the gesture gentle enough that she sneaks a glance up at his face.</p><p>Nik’s eyes are open now, and his face is…<em>not</em> gentle, not at all. It’s furious, murderous, and it occurs to Caroline briefly that she doesn’t actually know him all that well, that he is not one of her high school friends, and that he might try to confront Damon and <em>get hurt.</em> He may be able to hold his own against purely human adversaries, but against a <em>vampire</em>—</p><p>She sits up slightly on her elbow, looking down at him anxiously. “But you shouldn’t—don’t, like, worry about me. It’s fine now, okay? I’m good, I’m fine, it’s okay,” she assures him, cupping his face in her palm until his expression softens. “I didn’t know some things, things that I know now, like—” she makes a fist and reaches up to touch his cheek with the knuckle of her thumb. “I can take care of myself now.”</p><p>He leans up, catching her lips with his before pulling back slightly, his head resting against his ornate cherry headboard. “You are strong,” he tells her seriously, his tone such that it leaves no room for disagreement. As though she has no choice but to believe him. “You are strong, and beautiful, and full of light.”<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Her friends have been keeping secrets from her.</p><p>“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Caroline says slowly, pacing from where Elena sits with her knees pulled into her chest to where Stefan is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.</p><p>“Don’t take all night, Barbie,” Damon snaps and her hand clenches into a fist that itches to connect with his jaw. She’s not stupid—she knows she won’t do any <em>actual</em> damage, but she’s willing to bet she could make it hurt. Her knuckles are pretty bony, after all.</p><p>Instead of hitting him, she settles for a blistering scowl and turns her back on him, facing Elena. “The Sun and Moon curse is fake,” she says, repeating her friend’s earlier words. Elena nods slowly, her face pale, and Caroline continues, “Klaus and Elijah made it up, and the actual curse—which still needs all the ingredients from the fake curse—is going to…” she wrinkles her nose. “Turn Klaus into a vampire-werewolf mix?”</p><p>“A hybrid,” Stefan confirms flatly.</p><p>Caroline ignores him, keeping her eyes fixed on Elena. “We won’t let anything happen to you, ‘Lena,” she promises, and it sounds weak to her own ears. She’s hardly surprised when Damon barks out a laugh.</p><p>“Because you’re <em>so</em> useful,” he says with a dismissive snort, and it should cut. It should <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>But it doesn’t.</p><p>She is strong.</p><p>She is beautiful.</p><p>She is full of light.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>“You’re doing quite well,” Dr. Stone praises and Caroline beams at her.</p><p>“Thanks,” she says, “I’ve been working really hard.” <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>It all goes to shit.</p><p>Because of course it does.</p><p>Nothing gold can stay.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>He’s not Nik, he’s <em>Klaus</em>.</p><p>He kills Jenna, he kills Tyler’s friend Jules, he’s <em>killing</em> Elena, all before he notices that she’s standing right there, staring at him in pure horror.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Caroline whispers hoarsely, and she feels all the blood leave her face. “No, no, no, no, <em>no</em>—”</p><p>She backs away, backs away from him and his blue, blue eyes until she hits the solid mass of Damon, who doesn’t let her go.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Damon’s hand grips her arm too tightly; her lungs constrict and she reflexively pulls against him as hard as she can, despite the strength he has over her, despite the knowledge that he is trying to help her, trying to keep her from a bloodthirsty, one-thousand-year-old vampire-werewolf hybrid (<em>that she thought maybe loved her</em>). Her body doesn’t want to be anywhere near Damon’s, doesn’t want him touching her, and she can barely fight off the panic his touch triggers.</p><p>Nik—no, not Nik, <em>Klaus</em>, he is Klaus, and she is a <em>fucking fool</em>—watches their exchange with narrowing eyes: Damon practically dragging her away from the quarry, her heels digging into the ground and her breath beginning to shorten as she fights off the instinctual fear that he generates in her. She’s sure that to everyone around them, Klaus’s face does not change; but she <em>knows</em> him, has seen that face as his body moved over hers, has touched that face with her fingers and with her lips. </p><p>Caroline sees the moment that the pieces clicks together for him—<em>there was this guy</em>, she had told him, <em>and he hurt me</em>, and of course he must have always known that the scars on her skin were in the shape of a vampire’s fangs—</p><p>She sees the moment that he turns murderous.</p><p>The words tumble out of her mouth before her brain has time to catch up. “Damon, <em>run</em>.”</p><p>Damon doesn’t ask questions; he’s gone before she can blink and it <em>hurts</em> to stand in front of Klaus, in front of <em>Nik</em>, who taught her how to protect herself from—  </p><p>“Did you know who I was?” she asks in a whisper. “Was—was I part of some <em>plan</em>?” <em>Did you use me too?</em></p><p>He is silent, then—</p><p>“At first.”</p><p>She will not shatter. <em>She will not break.</em> <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>The problem with mirrors, Caroline discovers, is that they show you as you are.</p><p>She catches a glimpse of herself in the large one her mother has hanging in the foyer on the wall just outside of their living room.</p><p>On her neck, there are love bites from Klaus next to the shadows of real bites from Damon.</p><p>Her face flushes; with shame or embarrassment at her own stupidity, she isn’t sure.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>She cancels her membership at Kickboxing Fitness Gym.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>It doesn’t stop him from finding her.</p><p>She never really expected it to.</p><p>“Caroline,” he beseeches her, following her as she stomps out of the Mystic Grill towards her car. “Caroline, please. Allow me to explain.”</p><p>She has the pointy end of her car keys nestled in between her index and middle fingers, for all the good it will do her against him; but still she whirls around and thrusts them at him, her hand a fist. </p><p>“No!” She screams the word at him as the anger and betrayal that has been simmering for weeks inside of her finally comes to a boil. “What is there to explain? How do you expect to come out of this looking <em>any</em> better?” She inhales raggedly and his hand twitches towards her. “You tried to kill my <em>best friend</em>! You lied to me for <em>weeks</em>, and I let you—” she cuts herself off sharply. “No,” she repeats at a lower decibel, but with just as much acid. “No. I am <em>done</em>, with you, with your stupid charade, with <em>all of it</em>. Stay the fuck away from me.”</p><p>His face changes from pained to irritated, but he doesn’t come any closer. “You sought me out, love,” he points out and Caroline almost screams in frustration.</p><p>“I did <em>not</em> seek <em>you</em> out,” she hisses at him, forgetting that she should, by rights, be terrified of him. “I just wanted to learn how to throw a <em>punch </em>and you happened to have a goddamn <em>gym</em>!” She rounds on him and shoves her finger in his chest. “You <em>offered</em> to help me, you incredible bastard!” Caroline throws her hands out, her arms wide. “What was the point, Klaus? Or is it <em>Nik</em>?” She nearly spits his other name out, and a muscle jumps in his jaw at the sound. “Mind games? Or did you just want to get laid and you found an easy mark?”</p><p><em>That</em> lands. His face twists and her self-preservation instinct finally kicks in. She backs away from him, her heart speeding up as her adrenaline spikes.</p><p>“Hardly easy, sweetheart,” he snaps, advancing on her. Her face burns as she remembers that <em>she</em> kissed <em>him</em> first, starry-eyed by someone who saw something in her worth protecting. The irony of it isn’t lost on her—that in a town full of monsters, the worst one had taught her to protect herself. </p><p>“Don’t you get it?” she shouts at him, pressing her back against her car door as he draws nearer. “I’m shallow! <em>Stupid</em> and <em>useless</em>! To my friends, to Damon, to <em>you</em>!” She can hear Damon’s voice sneering the words as though he is right there with them. </p><p>The terrifying anger has faded out of Klaus’s face, but she thinks she would prefer it to the softness that has replaced it. </p><p>“Caroline—”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” she cries out at him, shoving at the hands that are now gripping her elbows. She tries fervently to pull away, to no avail. “Why can’t you just leave me <em>alone</em>—”</p><p>“Because,” he says, and he’s <em>too close</em> because she can smell his soap and sandalwood, and it makes her heart twist and yearn and forget that she hates him, “Because you’re strong—” her hands push at his chest, tears pricking at her eyes, “—you’re beautiful—” </p><p>“<em>Stop</em> it—”</p><p>He ignores her. “You’re strong,” he repeats insistently, “and you’re full of <em>light</em>.” His forehead touches hers and she hates that he can still send tingles down her spine. “I enjoy you.” </p><p>They stand there like that, her breath white in the cold. Caroline lets her eyes close, lets herself pretend for just a second. </p><p>She deserves just a second. </p><p>Then she balls up her fist and hits him as hard as she can.    </p><p>He steps backwards, flinching, more out of surprise than any actual pain, she’s pretty sure. A white-hot throb gathers under her skin where she had connected with his jaw. </p><p>“<em>Ow</em>,” she whimpers, turning away from him and cradling her hand close to her chest. The skin across her knuckles has split and is bleeding profusely, and she thinks she may have cracked a bone— </p><p>“Let me,” he says, and she tries to pull herself away from the cage of his arms but he holds on and doesn’t let her go. </p><p>“No,” she protests weakly, but the sound of teeth tearing into flesh confirms that he is ignoring her. A bleeding wrist is pressed to her mouth and despite herself, she tastes copper. The ache in her knuckles subsides almost immediately. </p><p>His face is in her neck, and as he pulls his arm away, she should be afraid. She should be afraid of his teeth, of the pain he could cause her; but instead, her skin warms and she wants <em>so badly</em> to let her head fall back against him, to press her temple to his cheek, to let him protect her because she is so tired of failing to protect herself. </p><p>“I deserved that,” Klaus says into her hair, his hand snaking around her waist and pulling her in tight. </p><p>She can’t stop herself from snorting. “No shit Sherlock.” </p><p>His arms tighten and she is flush against him. “Caroline,” he says softly, as though reading her mind, “let me protect you.”</p><p>And it’s so, <em>so</em> tempting. <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>She lets Matt take her out to dinner in Richmond. </p><p><em>Do you think we’re alive at the end of this</em>, she wants to ask him. It’s been weighing on her, how they are the puzzle pieces without homes—Elena, the doppelganger; Bonnie, the witch; Tyler, the werewolf and the two of them, the human bystanders. They don’t fit in this world, and Caroline can’t see how they survive it. They’re collateral.  </p><p>But instead she just picks at her overpriced mahi mahi as they sit in silence, unsure of what to talk about. </p><p>They don’t go out again. <br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>There’s a self-defense place in Richmond—the one she had discarded as too far because of the hour drive one-way from her house. But it's been months, and football season is over so she signs up for their twice a week intro course. There’s an <em>About Us</em> page on their website—a bland looking white couple smiles up at her, their teeth perfect, their golden retriever happily sitting between them. It’s enough for her. </p><p>The intro class is <em>massive</em>; Caroline estimates there are at least sixty other people there. The gym is brightly lit, the mats pristine, and the check in system is a series of iPads installed. It’s a far cry from dim lighting, dirty rubber mats, and a clipboard; but, she thinks, it’s probably a good thing. The further from Nik, from <em>Klaus</em>— </p><p>“All right!” a perky voice chirps from up front; Caroline looks up from adjusting her wrist wraps to see a cheerful redhead with a headset. The woman’s voice makes her teeth grind. “I’m going to pair you off, so everyone stand up!” </p><p>She’s near the edge of the mats, waiting for her assigned partner, when— </p><p>“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart.” </p><p>Her spine snaps straight before she turns, her entire body stiff. “Which one are you today?” she asks lowly, so that she isn’t overheard by any of the soccer moms lingering nearby. “Nik? Or Klaus?”</p><p>Klaus shrugs, blue eyes glittering. “Whichever you prefer.” </p><p>“I <em>prefer</em> guys who don’t try to kill my friends.” </p><p>Before he can respond, the instructor—<em>Amber</em>, her name tag reads— stops by. “Oh!” she says brightly, “you two are already paired up! Works for me!” She moves on, leaving Caroline scowling and Klaus smug. </p><p>“Still want me to go easy?” he asks, and she gets the distinct impression that he is <em>flirting</em> with her.</p><p>“Don’t do that,” she scolds, settling into her stance. He arches an eyebrow at her.</p><p>“Do what, love?” </p><p>“Try to like, <em>charm</em> me. It won’t work.” She sniffs at him as the music kicks up and he grins. </p><p>“Of course not,” he agrees easily and she nods firmly. </p><p>She wins—<em>he let you</em>, a treacherous voice whispers in her mind—and an hour later, he walks her to her car. </p><p>“I don’t need you to protect me,” she says, but it’s a lie and they both know it.  </p><p>“Caroline,” he says quietly, his index finger coming up to push an escaped wisp of hair off of her face. “You are a marvel.” He leans in and kisses her cheek and she smells sandalwood. </p><p>“Hey,” she says as he starts to walk away, “if you could like, leave my friends alone?” She hesitates, then dives in head first. “We could maybe like...I dunno.” Caroline shrugs, lets it hang in the air. “Try. Be a—a thing, or something.” </p><p>Klaus cocks his head, a half smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps,” he allows, and then he is gone.</p><p>She stands there, playing with her car keys. Wondering. </p><p>A marvel. </p><p>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>
  <strong>fin. </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you enjoyed this, might I also recommend the classic Klaroline fic <a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7827237/1/the-guilty-ones">the guilty ones</a> by <a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1506119/grim-grace">grim grace</a>. </p><p>Feel free to give me a follow on <a href="https://little-miss-sunny-daisy.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/sunnydaisy6">Twitter</a> where I'm currently live-tweeting my rewatch of TVD (seriously, there is so much I've forgotten)!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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